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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27928738">Cliché</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheared/pseuds/sheared'>sheared</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gore, Horror, M/M, One Shot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, im doing this to expel my demons, uhhh idk what else to tag this as</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:08:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,357</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27928738</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheared/pseuds/sheared</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels warmth around him, warm hands touching, fading the pain way, healing. He almost thinks it’s an angel, until he sees the cobblestone floors beneath him, and he’s reminded of just exactly where he is.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christophe "The Mole" DeLorne/Damien Thorn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cliché</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>What do I even say... I'm embarrassed. No one will read this.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The worst part about being human is being weak. Christophe does his best to fight against that - to be strong against all odds. But there are moments where being human gets the best of him, and there’s nothing he can do but suffer. This is one of those times where he’s just plain fucked, and he’s staring death down in the face. He puffs rebelliously on a cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the antichrist’s face. Damien was polite enough to tell him his name before he started torturing him, and he was even polite enough to give him a cigarette break. Christophe would do anything for a cancer stick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what’s your business down in hell?” Damien asks, leant casually against a cobblestone wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe knows there’s no use hiding it, “Trying to bring back a soul, businessman lost his daughter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a hard thing to do, you know.” Damien flicks his nails together. They’re sharp, black. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done it before.” Christophe scoffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Without being caught?” Damien pushes himself off from the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Christophe mutters. His cigarette is getting dangerously low, and he knows that means he’s about to get his ass handed to him again. He feels his wrists tied to the chair, his boots tied to the wooden legs. Taking one last long drag he blows the smoke into Damien’s face once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien finally walks over to him, takes the cigarette from his lips and flicks it off to the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These things will kill you, you know,” He says mockingly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cliché.” Christophe grins.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Blood blinds him in his right eye, which he’s surprised hasn’t burst from how hard he was just punched, “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien pulls his fist back again and swings, aiming straight for Christophe’s nose, breaking it instantly. His head is forced back by the blow, and it rolls to the side once he’s regained his composure. He watches Damien step back and crack his knuckles. Welts and blood cover his knuckles, but Christophe sees them healing almost immediately. Lucky bastard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe spits blood out at Damien’s feet, and a face he hasn’t seen before warps Damien’s features, almost shocking Christophe into fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien grabs the arms of the chair and throws it to the side. Once Christophe is on the ground groaning in pain, he kicks at his face, hitting him square in the jaw. Christophe groans and spits blood out carelessly again, this time not aiming for anything in particular. Damien laughs lightly, but it sounds fake and forced. His shoe prods at Christophe’s bleeding face, pressing down on his cheek and then adding more pressure slowly until he’s putting most of his weight onto his face. Christophe groans in pain after a while, trying to move but failing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look good like this.” Damien mutters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you.” Christophe hisses from underneath his pointed shoe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien ignores him and steps off from his face, moving towards his stomach. He kicks hard into the fleshy part of Christophe’s belly, and he swears something has burst, because Damien’s strength is impossibly high. Christophe has never been up against a demon one on one before - especially not the fucking antichrist. God, if only Gregory were here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few more harsh kicks, Damien picks up Christophe, who’s been holding back screams of pain through being kicked. After he settles the chair back onto its legs, he spits in Christophe’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t disrespect me,” He says as a warning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe scoffs, disgusted by the saliva dripping down his cheeks. Don’t disrespect him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spits back, blood and saliva splatter over Damien’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t even flinch. His expression is blank as he thinks of what to do next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do unimaginable things to you.” He warns, grabbing Christophe’s face and digging his nails into his cheeks. Christophe can see Damien’s eyes shifting to a deeper maroon, the gears turning in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s punched once more, enough to knock him out. His world fades to black as his eyes roll to the back of his head.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Fire is dangerously close to Christophe’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, an unexplainable pain reaches him, the skin of his cheeks curling and peeling as Damien sets his fiery fingers there. He then presses them to his lips, pushing past his mouth and digging his nails into his tongue. Christophe keeps giving those strangled cries, blood gurgling in his throat and distorting his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he refuses to beg. No, he won’t show this fucker that weakness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien pulls out something slimy, something covered in blood, and Christophe realizes it’s his tongue in Damien’s hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe rears his head away as Damien shakes it in front of his face, blood splattering against his cheeks. He can hear deep laughter taking over the room, booming in his ears. He lets out a couple of strangled cries, ones that are distorted from his missing tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now,” Damien starts, “You can’t piss me off with your backtalk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flings the tongue off to the side, where it hits a wall and flops to the ground. Christophe watches with teary eyes, and he would have laughed it weren’t for the fact that it was his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien places his thumbs over Christophe’s eyes, pressing lightly to warn Christophe of what’s next to come. Christophe shakes his head to try and move away, but Damien’s grip is strong, and he squeezes his head in place. Next, he digs his fingers in quickly, bursting his eyes open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe lets out another mangled scream, the pain is so excruciating that he can’t stay awake anymore, his body freezes as his world fades again. He slumps back into his chair, and Damien removes his fingers slowly from his sockets. Wiping off the blood on his black pants, he gets ready to bring Christophe back to consciousness. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>After being healed, Christophe wakes from what he thought was a terrible nightmare fixed with all his worst fears - but upon seeing Damien’s figure waiting for him he realizes just how much more shit he’s going to get thrown at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien sits on a chair fiddling with a knife, one that looks dull from overuse. He sits up in excitement upon seeing Christophe’s open eyes, and rushes over, as if he were a child ready to play with a new toy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See this?” He says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe stays silent. He watches as the knife dances before his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Not going to talk?” Damien sneers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe glares under furrowed brows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the knife is being driven into his arm, reaching down to the wood of the chair, he screams, then muffles it quickly. He bites at his lips as his body writhes in the chair. Damien rips the knife out of him, then sighs, almost in relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like the way you sound.” He says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off.” Christophe retorts, watching the blood spill out of a jagged cut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien steadies himself over Christophe’s frame and lines the knife up to his fingers, he pushes down slowly, and cuts away with the dulled edge. Christophe keeps muffling his reactions, trying his best to not give Damien the satisfaction that he wants. He wants to stay as silent as possible - it’s the only way to not give up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien is only halfway through his finger at this point, taking his time and chuckling, like he’s having fun with it. He presses down even harder, and Christophe watches his middle finger fall to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien lines the knife up to his next finger. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Once his arms have been carved, and his fingers sawed off, Damien gets out a bucket of water. Christophe has had his head held under water before, but the bucket is full of ice as well this time, and he can only imagine how long his breath is going to need to be held. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien untied him a couple minutes ago, which Christophe fought back against, but Damien slammed him into the ground and got on top of him, ripping his arms back and tying the knot around his bleeding arms. Damien rips him up from his position on the floor by the rope, and then drags him over to the bucket. Christophe sucks in a deep breath before his head is plunged into the ice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How much time has passed? He tries to count the minutes but after a while his mind gets blurry, and he can’t think properly anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head is ripped from the water by his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sorry?” Damien asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” Christophe gurgles, and his head plunges into the water again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how many times Damien does this, but each time he’s one step closer to passing out. Christophe hates how many times he’s been knocked to sleep by this fucker - it’s embarrassing and makes him feel weak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sucks in a deep breath of air, and Damien stills his movements. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sorry?” He repeats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Christophe struggles to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fucking annoying.” Damien scoffs, and plunges his head back into the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this time he isn’t let back up until he runs out of breath completely. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He feels warmth around him, warm hands touching, fading the pain way, healing. He almost thinks it’s an angel, until he sees the cobblestone floors beneath him, and he’s reminded of just exactly where he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s propped up on the chair again, arms and legs tied to the wood. Damien has that same dull knife out. Christophe is still shivering from being drowned multiple times. Out of nowhere, he starts stabbing him, at his belly, his chest, his neck. Everywhere Damien can touch, until finally he guts him, intestines spilling out all over his legs and the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watch yourself die.” Damien says calmly. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Christophe can’t believe this is happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien pushes their cocks together, and Christophe squirms. It’s an awful feeling having him so close, their bodies pressed together as he </span>
  <em>
    <span>juts. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Christophe listens to his deep laughter, and shivers at the way Damien smiles against the skin just under his chin, nose pressing gently into his jawline. He can’t help but whimper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another thrust and their cocks rub, and Damien’s already hard. His precum leaks down onto Christophe’s stomach. He turns his head away and cries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re okay,” Damien chuckles, letting out a thin moan into his ear, and grabbing their cocks together to stroke them at the same time. “You’re just fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go fuck yourself.” Christophe hisses, his voice dripping with disgust. His hips buck without his permission when Damien rubs his thumb over the head of his cock. It’s not fair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien grunts with one final thrust against him, then sits back up, his cock bobbing slightly with the movement. As he leans back he spits on his cock and rubs it in, and Christophe knows what’s going to happen next, and he’s thinking of anything he can do to stop it, but he can’t move against the rope tying him to the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-wait, I…” He begins, but can’t keep going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien looks at him under a raised brow, then smirks. “Yes?” He taunts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe lays there in silence, mouth open as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. He makes a small noise when he begins to speak, but stops, because he knows it’s useless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damien laughs one more time, then nods sarcastically, “That’s what I thought.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lines himself up with Christophe’s entrance and presses slowly into him. Christophe immediately writhes away as best as he can, tears welling up in his eyes as pain overcomes him. He can’t even speak. The burning is worse with how slow Damien is moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps pushing and soon he’s leaning over Christophe’s frame completely, staring him directly in the eye. Tears run down Christophe’s face now as he feels Damien’s cock inside of him, pushed in balls deep. “F-fuck…” He chokes out, arms fighting back against the rope bound to the headboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few seconds of staying still, Damien thrusts into him, causing Christophe to gasp. He thrusts again until he’s moving at a steady pace, grunting and moaning as he slides his cock in and out. His mouth is all over Christophe’s neck, biting and drawing blood, leaving hickeys and bruises all over to claim what’s his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe rips his head away, “I’ll fucking kill you,” he hisses through cries, anger bubbling inside him as Damien keeps going, pulling hair, digging nails into thighs and skin. It feels neverending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But after a while, after Christophe’s been bruised and scratched up, bleeding from more places than he can count, Damien’s thrusts get more sporadic and desperate, little moans escaping from him against his will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuckkk…” he whimpers against Christophe’s neck, pumping into him until finally, he comes, pushing himself all the way in. Damien’s body shakes slightly, his skin is warm, and if he hadn’t just been raped, Christophe could have found that comforting. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.” Damien breathlessly says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Christophe says finally. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“I went easy on you, you know.” </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>"Christophe!"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gregory.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe’s lungs burn. He feels weight beside him and realizes it’s Gregory kneeling to cover him with his coat. He immediately clings to him, fingers curling into the fabric of Gregory’s shirt, dragging him closer for warmth. He wraps his arms around Christophe and starts to create friction on his arms with his hands, rubbing them up and down in a panic. Gregory takes his gloves off immediately after and puts them on his frostbitten fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're freezing cold -" He starts, but stops when he sees Christophe needs more, needs something else, he’s turning blue, they need to get out of here. He can’t help but ask, “Who did this to you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sobbing, he didn’t want to, but he couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t stop the cries escaping his raspy throat. He felt it too hard for him to talk, but he needed to get something out, anything at all, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>I want to go home." </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Christophe preferred the biting cold to hell’s warmth, as long as he knew he was far away from him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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